


baby, i'll learn to touch you

by sultrygoblin



Series: these moonlight desires haunt me [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut, rubbing fronts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24214501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - prompt - how do you go from cute to sexy in under a second?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker/Reader
Series: these moonlight desires haunt me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747759
Kudos: 73





	baby, i'll learn to touch you

**Author's Note:**

> this is a continuation of my peter bff fic but you don’t need to read it to get this. um...i hope you like it. it’s smuttish i guess

It’s different now. Well, it isn’t but it is. Which is a very difficult concept to try to understand. You hadn’t managed more than that evening on the kitchen floor and a few hours in each other’s arms before he’d been sent off on some emergency mission. It wasn’t like you were going to let your stick around the compound without him. You’d figured that one out quickly. What’s the point in having Stacey if there’s no Malibu Barbie, right? You made your way to the cramped apartment you shared. Everything is sort of crushed together with a bathroom door and a kitchen counter splitting the room into any sort of ‘sections’. It was filled with an odd mixture of your stuff, nothing really matching anything else. But it was cozy. Especially now, with no idea how long Peter would be gone and still far too giddy. There’s no way you’s getting to sleep at this point and the goal becomes keeping your mind busy. It’s amazing how many things a gal could come up with when you were trying not to think. Especially with a bit of good music. By the time evening rolls around the apartment is organized and spotless. Your hands reek of cleaner, your knees hurt, and you’re far too tired to bother with making any real food but it’s done its job. Unfortunately, you had nothing left to do which gave you an entire evening of thinking about Peter in this wonderful new way. Before you’d wander off and on if he was okay and shoot him a few texts to check. Now you felt far too much like you had in 7th grade when Harry Osborn had said yes when you asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance. you hadn’t expected the switch to flip just like that but it had, now all you had to do was be a reasonable adult about it.

Busying yourself with a quick pot of ramen and a change into clean, fresh from the pajamas, you settled down in front of the television. Deciding what to watch had held your attention for far longer than you’d liked to admit but eventually prairie dogs appeared in view and it kept your mind busy through the noodles. It suddenly occurred to your that the pillow you’d curled up on the bed with wasn’t yours, it smells like spicy sandalwood and lavender, his cologne, which means you should put it back and grab your pillow but you can’t bring yourself to do it. It was just a pillow after all, as long as you kept your attention eighty-five percent focused on the burrowing rodents there was no reason you wouldn’t be fine. Which was a complete lie but he wasn’t here to call your out on that either so it couldn’t be all bad? By episode four you were feeling pretty good about everything, enough that you don’t really think when your phone chirps. Watching one woman dog fight another for the rights back to your burrow, you flicked to your messages and turned your eyes down.

This blows. I’m not even doing anything.

It was too easy. You knew it. The little piece of technology hadn’t crossed your mind at all. There was no real way of getting away from him or the new way you seemed to miss him. At least you had this, he wasn’t completely gone. He’d be back any day now and you’d fit as much as you could in the time between that and the next thing. Just like you had before.

How long have you guys even been wherever it is you are?

With the phone in hand, you scooted back against the headboard and settled in for the familiar. With any luck, you’d fall asleep first and you could put off missing him completely until the morning.

Still blows.

You snickered, knowing another text couldn’t be far behind so you turned your attention back to the TV. Another minute passed, then another, which was strange. Peter had a pattern and that didn’t fit it. Which probably meant he’d finally gotten his something to do. It made your stomach sink, there hadn’t been a lot of time but you’d have more than enough when he was back. Sending a quick heart emoji, you flicked off the lights and burrowed into the bed, not unlike the cute things skittering about on the TV. It was your own fault for not giving yourself enough credit, you were dangerously drowsy within a few minutes. Actual sleep would take over any moment and it feels like you’s won. A few stray thoughts but you hadn’t let yourself drown too long. That familiar chirp, you lolled your head, fingers flicking lazily.

I miss you.

Goddammit.

{}

In the morning you had a couple of classes, which kept your mostly occupied. you’d responded to Peter’s late-night text with a, miss you too, and rushed to get on the laptop. Classes went fast, the few things you had to type up for work even faster, until it was 6 pm and you had nothing to do. You could just go out, have a couple of drinks, but somehow you think you might miss him even more if you were out on your own. You weren’t a person who had a ton of friends either. Having a few good friends felt much more important but became such an annoyance when trying to do anything. All three of them being busy with each other. Which should’ve been a punch to the gut but seemed about on point with how you’d kept your focus firmly on Peter pretty much your entire life.

“Shower,” breaking the silence and turning quickly on your feet.

You seemed to narrate the entire thing internally as if it were time to introduce you in a Wes Anderson movie. But whatever worked, right? Except it didn’t. Which was starting to bug you. It had never been this much of an issue before. Which had been a futile argument since it was easy to list about a hundred reasons why this was completely different from any other relationship that you had before. You’re almost surprised it didn’t end with you shaming yourself for even thinking that this would be anything like those- what now equated to- dalliances. But that might be more that your phone began to ring as you were lotion your legs.

“Of course,” seeing his name and face flash across the screen you held it carefully between your greasy hands and used a bent knuckle to slide up.

“Booooo towel!” were the first words out of his mouth for the point three seconds he’d been on-screen.

You rolled your eyes, “You’ve settled into boyfriend nicely,” balancing the phone against the nightstand so you could finish and get the greasy lotion off your hands.

“And you’re trying to change the subject,” watching him lean back against what appeared to be a headboard, “Where was I? Right, booooo,” seeming quite pleased with himself when you rolled your eyes but still smiled.

“First time you really see me naked Parker it will not be over FaceTime,” yanking the giant t-shirt from the bed and pulling it over yourself and the towel before ridding yourself of the terry cloth.

He laughed, “Either way it’s going to be a glorious day,” grinning as you picked the phone back up, “Are you miserably lonely without me there?”

“Not so much now,” you laughed, nodding just a bit, “It is different than I thought.”

“Much different.”

But this isn’t, you talk like normal. Only now when he’s cute you can say it and he can openly complain about how rude it was for the bad guys to be doing exactly what bad guys do when he could be there. It isn’t a long call, Wanda’s voice breaks in the background. But when he leaves he shoots you a kiss and you do the same back and it just feels right. The phone lingering in your hands even as his face disappeared from the screen, the call notice followed.

“You’re acting like a child,” as somehow that would do anything. Your stomach simply growled at you as if to call you a moron, “Fine. Dinner.”

{}

You’d just dozed off once more to prairie dogs, beginning what seemed to be a theme of what your Peter-less watching habits would become. It doesn’t surprise him to see when he slinks in through the open window and steps onto the floor quietly. What does is how much cleaner the apartment is, the kind of clean that makes a person wonder if a murder happened here, but he blames that on all the Investigation Discovery he’d been watching in the hotel room. It’s all familiar after that, moving quietly from the main room and into the bathroom, making sure the door was closed before he began his shower. By the time he’s cleaned up and stepping out into the room in his boxer-briefs, working the damp towel through is much damper hair, it’s moved onto an ocean documentary that had apparently been next on the queue. He doesn’t think turning his gaze to look at you.

Except it’s different now and he’s been gone basically three days, either fighting bad guys or locked in a room thinking of you. You texted, you talked, he was sure he was prepared for this moment. He’d get home, crawl into bed, and tomorrow you could continue discovering what it was like to be dating. But the apartment was getting warmer and warmer the closer you got to summer. T-shirt and panties were the way to keep cool but it also was incredibly distracting when the shirt was ruched up against your ribs and the panties were not the boy shorts he had grown accustomed to as your best friend. These were small and lacy, boyfriend underwear is what you had always called them. He bit his lower lip watching the way it seemed to hug your skin in a way that could only be described as painted on. He tossed his towel at least towards the laundry basket that lived at the end of the bed, far more focused on you. Legs, one mostly straight, the other cocked to the side, your hips at an angle, one arm equally cocked by your head, the other stretching towards the wall, hair running amuck across the pillows.

“It was always you,” he doesn’t know why it feels so important to say it, you’re asleep, you don’t even know he’s here but he has too, “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” you grumbled, head lolling towards his voice, “Why now?”

“Cop cars parked outside not even a snort but I call myself an idiot-”

“One is clearly more important than the others,” yawning that big wide kind that always shook your whole body, he can’t help watching your muscles tremble or that all too familiar feeling that comes with it, “Most importantly, you’re home,” smiling that tired grin he’s sure was the first thing about you he’d fallen in love with.

“No,” he shook his head, voice almost solemn, “Most importantly, you’re not wearing any pants,” unable to stop himself from breaking in a smile.

There was no chance of you grabbing the quilt let alone getting it across your exposed bottom half before he was over you. Before his goal would have been to tickle you until you cried uncle, unable to get away with your hips pinned beneath his. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind as a memory. You’re pressed against him in all the best ways, your lips so close to his, and it takes everything in him not to moan at how your arms seem to wrap around his neck without thought.

“How do you do that?” you whispered, he lightly shook his head leaning closer, “Go from cute to sexy in under a second?”

“By watching you obviously.”

A point you were given no opportunity to argue with him, silenced by his lips smothering yours in all the best ways. He’s been thinking about it since the second he left, it’s even better. He came home to your apartment, he kissing you in the bed you share, it turns him on in a way he hadn’t expected. Fingers in his unruly hair, the arch of your foot rubbing up and down his shin, there’s a slowness to it all that he’s never experienced. He’s sure your newfound consciousness contributed to the lazy way you return his kiss but he follows, there’s something about slowly taking the other in after the forced separation that feels like a dream. No tongues or teeth, just lip to lip, one arm keep his full weight off your while the other held the column of your neck gently. He can feel himself joining you in slumberland, everything finally catching up to him in one fell swoop. Somewhere along the way you pulled the quilt over them and he’d rolled more onto his side, but still as entangled with you as he could, both of them dozed off.

{}

Peter never expected to enjoy waking up to someone watching him sleep but from you, it was the best to wake up. You hadn’t been awake much longer than him, eyes still heavy with morning drowsiness, your fingers stroking along his hairline softly, head held up by an arm that seemed to droop just a little, no doubt beginning to fall asleep. His arm is still tucked under your waist and it couldn’t be more perfect if he had planned it himself. With a confidence that truthfully he was still getting used to, he wraps his other arms around you and rolls you onto him. Your legs spread instinctively, sliding into place next to his while he held you tighter against him and your arms fell on the bed beside his head.

“It’s too early for that,” you grumbled, pressing another of those perfect lazy kisses to his lips, “Maybe for that too,” he didn’t quite know what you meant until your hips cocked down and brushed against his slightly snugger underwear.

“You and I both know that’s biology,” one hand smoothing across the space between your shoulder blades, the other swiping the top edge of your panties at the curve of your hip, “Well, 50 percent biology, 50 percent you.”

“I don’t remember you being this smooth,” feeling pretty sure that your mostly dead weight was not going to be a problem for him, you dipped your fingers in his sleep mussed hair.

His hand moved slowly, “It helps there is literally nothing I could do to embarrass myself in front of you,” until he was able to grip a half lace-covered cheek.

You laughed, “Oh ye of little faith,” tapping the tip of his nose with your free hand before tracing it along the curve of his cheek, “I really missed you, it was so weird and so great…”

“I know,” pressing his lips to yours for the briefest of kisses, “I almost broke down and sent you an ab pic,” smiling when you countered with your own harder, less teasing kiss.

“It’s like you think you have to trick me into taking my clothes off.”

As if to prove your point you sat upon him, the hand on your back falling to rest against your thigh, and tugged the sleep shirt over your head. Neither had expected how quickly the moment would change, morning flirting had morphed into something heavy before your shirt ever hit the floor. Suddenly realizing how many times you had imagined Peter looking at you like this and suddenly unable to meet his eye. A strange self-consciousness setting in, he wouldn’t let it hang around.

“Wow,” feeling and watching his hands slide over your hips, the curve of your stomach, “I take back every joke. Every single one,” which earned him a laugh and the appearance of eye contact, “See, that’s not so hard.”

The idea that he might be the more confident one in the situation had never occurred to you. Every time you imagined it there was a sense there’d be some sort of awkwardness on his side. That was the kind of guy he was, after all, and it was one of the many reasons you thought he was absolutely adorable. But you’d also been the first one imagining this, long enough that when suddenly faced with it you were reminded far too much of your first time; no idea what to do. The tip of his finger tracing the heavy underside of your breast shot you back to reality. He was seemingly entranced by not so much what he was doing but that act of doing it at all. Gently across your sternum and repeating the action on the other before sitting up slowly. He didn’t waste a second, tongue darting out to circle a straining nipple with just the very tip of his tongue. Whether it’s the morning light, the drowsiness, or just the languid way he moved everything felt almost unreal. Your hands rested on his shoulder, nails digging in ever so slightly, grounding you. This was real, it was finally happe-

“Jesus,” you could feel him smile as he sucked it firmly into his mouth, tongue never seeming to end it’s laving.

The hand on your ass is squeezing tighter, pulling your hips closer until his hardness pressed between your damp lips. There isn’t any chance moving, not with his super strength, and there’s something about that you can’t help getting excited about. You’re sure he feels you twitching against him at the thought and absolutely positive he felt the sudden wave of dampness. If the popping sound as he released your nipple and growled against the flash hadn’t been enough the way his hips jerked towards you was clear. There’s the vague memory of being the one in control, of teasing, you are sure one day you’ll be able to be that kind of person, at least when you manage to grasp the thought. His thumb rubbed against your ignored nipple while he captured your mouth in a kiss that was nothing like any of the ones you’d shared since that first one in the kitchen.

It’s hard and needy, his teeth tugging at your lower lip before delving between them to taste you. You moan, pressing back best you can. It’s new and thrilling, there’s no anxiety or embarrassment. It’s Peter, there’s no reason to feel anything but unadulterated lust. With that last rational thought, You fall, bowing down against his pleasurable assault on your senses. He abandons your nipple, using it to grip the base of your neck tightly, pressing your deeper into his embrace. His grip on your hip is bruising, pulling you a bit closer and easing you back. Your body picks up on it before your mind does. The way your panties bunch between your sensitive lips, the cotton of his briefs, and the sheer hardness of him, you’re embarrassingly close. Your short, allowed movements increase in speed and pressure, it’s enough to make him break the kiss. His eyes meet yours, they’re darker than you’ve ever seen and read you like a book, his smirk makes that perfectly clear. The mewl that falls from your lips is the right kind of pathetic it seems, he pushes your head against his shoulder, wanting your barest whispers to be a scream in his ear.

“I always knew,” his whisper curling in your ear, a dark tone you doesn’t recognize that makes you shudder against him, “The first time I made you cum would be with my cock.”

It’s so much you didn’t know about yourself or Peter, wrapped up in one sentence so intense it aims to push your over the edge entirely. Your hips stuttered, movements becoming wild as you chased the high. His hands are suddenly on your hips, that same grip that you know will leave marks, it sends your tumbling higher. you moan, a deep guttural sound followed by a whine as you felt it evading your grasp.

“I want to feel you,” you never thought the words but you tumble from your lips, “Need you, Peter,” you trust him to know what you mean, you certainly don’t.

“You’re so needy for me,” the sound of shredding fabric fills the room, the friction of fabric moving quickly and easily across your core pulls you higher.

His soft and impossible hard gliding between your lips, he falls backward with a groan. His hands explore what you can reach. Both of them watching the head of his cock disappear and reappear, your head lolls back, he grabs your breasts tight, nipples clenched between his gripping fingers.

“Fuck, Peter!”

You fall over the edge, ragged in a way he’d never seen, and would now always be at the corner of his mind. His name is a chant on your lips that match the undulating of your hips that pulls him apart piece by piece without ever even trying. You shriek in surprise when he bucks, the new angle pumping your clit over and over, till you are flying before completely falling. He cums with a growl that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside he can’t name. The barest bit splatters his lower stomach but your timing means all the next spurts are pressed against your hot flesh, collecting between you and slipping to the torn apart bed below. Your legs shake against him, your oversensitive pussy still quivers around his softening member, slowly he helps you to the bed onto your side.

“You okay?” he asked, running a hand through your hair as you tried to catch your breath.

You knocked his chest with the back of your hand, “Those were my favorite panties, Peter.”


End file.
